


Pinnacles

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cambridge, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Night Climbing, Romance, University, heights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cambridge, 1953. Arthur and Merlin come from different worlds, utterly disparate backgrounds, and yet they have more in common than just attending the same university. They're night climbers: they go up the walls of colleges and public buildings, taking on daring feats, defying authorities, challenging themselves to get where most people don't. While Merlin's activities are on the wane, Arthur wants to face his biggest trial yet, scaling the top of King's Chapel. To him it's about more than a simple ascent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinnacles

**Author's Note:**

> My heartfelt thanks go to rachelautumn for reading this over and for her thoughtful comments on my grammar and syntax. That's the kind of exchange that makes you think. I loved your insight, R!

The moon shone over the mounds of snow that carpeted the quad. It clothed the outlines of college buildings, scoring them against the night sky. It crystallised around twigs and branches as they hung from the apple tree standing in the shadows of Newton's old quarters. It mounded parapet rails and friezes, towers and pinnacles.

Standing on his pedals, Arthur streaked past the limestone structure of King's College Chapel and rounded Freshers Hall. With a pull on his brakes, he slowed down, stood on one pedal only, and hopped off his bicycle. This he leant against the bulk of the wall. He didn't bother with a chain or padlock. Not that bikes hadn't been stolen before, regardless of what the university's authorities and the police had done about it, but he just had no time to take the safety of his property into account. 

Hearing the footsteps of the proctor going on his round, Arthur flattened himself against the wall. The masonry was damp, dripping in places, and the chill of it seeped into his bones. He didn't let that faze him however, and stood as still as a mouse, holding his breath. When the proctor had clattered off, Arthur emerged from the shadows. 

He climbed the railing fencing in the Master's Lodge, shinned up the damp, gurgling drainpipe, and landed on the library roof. Watching out for icy patches, Arthur trod across it, then lowered himself down the slope of the gable. He hit the parapet of the undergrads' dorm and walked its edge. Tight-roping along the drainage conduit, he stretched outwards, and knocked on a closed window, thrice and then, more slowly, twice again.

At the signal the light went on and the sash lifted. Bleary eyed, Merlin poked his head out. When he focused on Arthur, he goggled and said, "Shit, Arthur, it's late."

"Yeah," Arthur said, clinging onto the tubing system for dear life. He grinned, widened his eyes. "I know. Good reason to let me in."

Tutting, swearing under his breath, Merlin pulled him. "You're an idiot," Merlin said, when Arthur finally landed inside. "You're completely touched in the head."

"And here I was...." Arthur dusted himself off. "... thinking you'd welcome a friend."

Merlin lobbed a sock at his face. "Arthur, you shouldn't be doing this." He flailed about, smacked his forehead with the base of his palm, shook his head. "It's what..." He glanced at the alarm clock sitting on his desk next to a pile of books and notes written in chicken-scratch. "One o' clock! And if the porter had caught you, you'd have got the dressing down of the century."

Arthur knew that was true. In fact, he had been sent to the Provost quite a few times. On those occasions he'd been severely reprimanded, made party to long homilies that had had him nodding, and threatened with all manner of punishment, which always failed to materialise because even the Head of College feared his father. "Never mind that," Arthur said, "I'm safe now."

"Yeah." Merlin scrubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah."

Arthur watched the movement and took in the whole of Merlin. His hair was up in tufts in the way only Merlin's bird nest could stand on end. He wore a white under shirt that frayed over the biceps and a pair of boxers thinning in places. It was clear he'd but lately been in bed. Arthur looked away. "I woke you, didn't I?"

"No." Merlin gazed sideways. "No, I was up."

"Liar." Arthur smiled, took a step forward and, walking into a wall of body warmth, knuckled Merlin's scalp. "And a bad one at that too."

Merlin fended him off, made a face. "Coffee?"

Arthur accepted a mug. It was cold and the coffee too sugary, lumpy at the bottom, but it didn't much matter. It served its purpose.

"So," Merlin said, perching on the edge of his bed. "What's brought you here? Your Greek tutor singled you out for extra essays again? Your new cox turned out to be incompetent? You were told you must go to chapel?"

Having moved the mound of clothes and books that littered Merlin's desk chair, Arthur sat in it. He stretched his legs out, his foot brushing against Merlin's bare one. "No, none of that." It was true that Mr Tristam always breathed down his neck, seemingly wanting more from him than from his fellow students, but since Arthur had rather boisterously pointed it out during a session, they'd come to an understanding, a truce of sorts. Apparently Mr Tristam only pushed him because he thought Arthur was worth it. Well, fancy that. Aside from Merlin, he was the only one who did. "I want to climb the turret of King's Chapel."

Merlin lost the blanket he was trying to wrap around himself. "You what!"

"I want to climb the--"

"No, I heard you the first time around." Merlin lapsed back into his Welsh accent. Tutors had long tried to stamp it out of him, but sometimes it made a come back, especially, for some reason, when Arthur was around. "God, Arthur, that's crazy. And dangerous, don't forget dangerous."

Arthur realised that. The turret's pinnacle stood at one hundred and fifty feet. A fall from that height would be mortal. "I know. That's why I can't do it alone."

"You want me to tag along." Merlin flared his eyes.

"Oh come on," Arthur said, waiving his mug of cold coffee around, "we both know you're not foreign to bouts of steeple-jacking."

"I did it three times." Merlin held up three fingers. "Only three times."

Arthur nodded. Merlin was a bit of a legend in that regard, quite magic. "St Benet's tower, All Saints' and Holy Trinity's spires."

"Arthur." Merlin sighed. "It's stupid."

"And yet you did it."

"I wanted the challenge." Merlin bit his lower lip. "The thrill of it, you know, the adrenaline rush."

"I know." Arthur had tried the Gate of Humility and the roof of Senate House for that very reason. "You do it to feel alive, as a proof of daring, of defiance, non-conformity."

Merlin huffed; his shoulders collapsed. "We'll get sent down."

"We won't. Not for a prank like this." Arthur nudged Merlin's foot with his. "Nobody has."

"Chesterfield was, in '48," Merlin said. "And Aglovale. You're right though. You won't be sent down. Your father's in the same bloody club as bloody Churchill. But I will."

"No, you won't." Merlin was too brilliant for that and every tutor, don and lecturer knew it. He would make a great researcher, a cracking doctor, and there was no one who wasn't aware of that. They'd keep him. "They wouldn't dare."

"I'm just the son of a mine worker from Wales, Arthur." Merlin rolled his shoulders back so that he stopped looking lanky and frail and appeared strong, wiry. "I can't risk it."

Arthur hung his head. He put the mug down. What was the point. "Right. Right."

"So you won't do it?" Merlin leaned forward and his room was so cramped, he could put his hand on Arthur's knee without straining forwards. 

Arthur wanted to cover his palm with his, feel his body warmth once again as he had before when he'd ruffled his hair, as he did every time they horsed around on the common, or when they lay down on the bottom boards of a rowing boat floating on the Cam. But he didn't. He thrust his jaw out and gazed window-wards. 

"You'll still do it." Merlin's fingers curled on Arthur's knee. "Won't you?"

"I'm not giving up on it." Arthur just didn't back down from a challenge. He had backbone, whatever his father said. He'd stick to his plans and, as Morgana so often said, damn the consequences. "No."

"Arthur, it can't be done without a climbing partner."

"I'll ask around." Arthur tried a smile on for size. It probably wasn't doing much in terms of lifting the corners of his mouth and making him appear merry, but you couldn't have everything. "Lancelot is athletic enough. He'll do it."

"You can't do it with just anyone, Arthur," Merlin said. "You need to do it with someone who's got your back, knows your moves."

That's why Arthur had asked Merlin. They were in tune. They fit. They had the same climbing rhythms and the same body pace. Arthur felt it in his bones; that synchronicity with Merlin was a part of him that was always at the back of his mind, in his thoughts. But if Merlin didn't want to climb with him, Arthur would never force him. "Lancelot is a good fellow."

"You can't go up with him." Merlin levered off his bed and grabbed him by the shoulders, both hands squarely palming bone. "It's not the same."

Arthur wanted to go up with a friend too, with someone like Merlin, but there was only one Merlin, so, barring that, most anyone with the ability would do. "Perhaps not, but it'll work out."

"You need to trust your partner with your life, Arthur," Merlin said. "Above and beyond."

"I realise." Arthur cleared his throat. "I don't distrust Lancelot."

Merlin exhaled, hung his head, his back going up, shoulderblades out like the stumps of wings. "I'll do it."

"Merlin, you just said 'no'."

"And now I'm saying yes." Merlin snapped up his head.

"Merlin--" Arthur tipped his head to the side so he and Merlin were face to face, noses an inch away, gazes locked. "Merlin, I offered. You declined. I don't want you to feel like you have to do it. You're not responsible for me."

"I know." Fold by fold, the corners of Merlin's mouth creased into a smile. "I know what a noble sod you are, how you wouldn't pressure me, and it doesn't change my decision. I want to do this."

Arthur wasn't sold. He wished he could be, because there was nothing he wanted more than sharing this adventure with Merlin. But he didn't want it at the price of Merlin's trust in him. "Merlin, in all honesty--"

"I've made my choice." Merlin grinned. "I'll be by your side."

Arthur made a push to stand but Merlin forced him down, so Arthur kept his seat. "Merlin, I'd love to, but I don't think this is fair on you at all."

"We're climbing it, Arthur." Merlin fingers slid upwards and cupped his neck. "You and I are going up King's."

**** 

 

Wind gusted over roofs, across the deserted quad, and up the church's façade. It hurled flurries at its mouldings and mullions; at its cornices and arches. In the darkness the blues of the stained glass had blackened and the reds greyed. Shadows hid the stonework's detail and flattened reliefs.

Arthur and Merlin wore tight clothing and trainers; had gloves on and no scarves. "We're doing it in two stages," Arthur said, looking up at the bulk of the building. The stone was pale in the moonlight. "From down here to the roof and from there to the north-east turret."

"Right." Merlin set his jaw and took a step forward. "I'll go first." 

Rope coiled around his left shoulder, Merlin set his hands on the bracings between the cable pipes running up the face of the east wing and hoisted himself skywards, going slowly, toes and fingers scrabbling for purchase, until he was a few feet up. When he found a ledge, he paused and reached his hand out to Arthur. Arthur put a foot on a low cornerstone, grabbed Merlin's hand and pulled himself towards him. 

Once they were on the same level, Merlin searched for another foothold. When he found it, he climbed another stretch of wall, inching outwards and away from the smoother section of that aspect of the building. Hand over hand, Arthur moved after him, finding footholds and handholds in the gaps and protrusions of the masonry, keeping tight against the stone wall so the wind couldn't buffet him.

Even so he could feel the gale keenly. It tugged at his clothes; it pushed him off course and it froze his face and neck. He told himself to ignore it; to concentrate on the ascent. Up, he must go up. Get to that pinnacle. That was what he was here for. With a grunt, Arthur levered himself up by a few more feet, then, face flat against the stone, he took a moment to rally his strength. His heart rate was up; his blood was zinging fast in his veins and heat bloomed in his muscles. But he wasn't afraid; at least he didn't think he was. The moment -- whatever this was -- stretched out in front of him and he was in it, shaping it, making of it what he wanted.

A choice he had made for himself.

Before starting again, Arthur looked up. Continuing the climb at an angle, Merlin had worked his way past the second sloping ledge, pushing up with his legs. 

Finding the same fissure Merlin had, Arthur pressed his feet against it and levered up. The moment he got a good grip, he glanced downwards. He was some fifty feet above the ground, at a mid point in his ascent, and the world seemed minuscule from up here. The courtyard glittered with a patina of melted snow, as if stars were trapped in puddles and spills. The bicycles padlocked to the rail looked like gleaming toys, ready to be picked up by the hand of a child. Even the ground floor windows seemed like nothing more than small grooves, shedding orange light across the campus. It was both lovely and odd, of this world, and completely fanciful. He would never have seen it if he hadn't done this.

Right, the climb. He had to finish it.

Breath fanning out in a cloud, Arthur pushed himself up.

Muscles straining, his arms and knee joints supporting most of his weight, he clambered. Like Merlin before him, he made the base of the turret, and inched upwards from there. Latticework jutted out, forming handholds. Wrapping his hands around them, testing them for yield, Arthur used them to piston up. 

He landed on the on the first parapet.

"You good?" Merlin called up from up above him.

"Yeah." Afraid his words might echo into the night and warn the porter, Arthur didn't shout them, he only said them. But the wind carried them to Merlin. 

Using air holes in the clover-leaf stonework, Merlin went up, hands and feet seeking purchase, finding it in improbable places, the jut of a stone, the edge of a cleat, the wide base of a trellis. He was a born climber, fast of foot, light, agile.

Arthur had lied to himself and Merlin the other day. The truth was he didn't want to be doing this with anybody else. Lancelot was a good chap; a fine man, but not the person he wanted to be on a life changing adventure with. He only wanted to share the experience with Merlin, going at the same rhythms, following the same patterns, acting in tandem, testing their bodies together.

More convinced then ever, he laddered upwards. The air was thinner here, colder. It pierced his lungs in a way it didn't down in the quad. His heartbeat sounded steady in his ears, a potent drumming that, combined with the push of the gale, deafened him. His hands cramped at points, fingers sticking together, tendons knotting. But it was nothing he couldn't withstand or work around.

Only stopping from time to time, he powered towards the turret's acme. 

Not too far from it his feet found purchase on a section of chessboard stone; his hands closed around the beak of a gargoyle, and he lifted himself onto the second overhang.

Merlin had already reached this point. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his cheeks red with the strain. When he caught Arthur's gaze his eyes gleamed and he grinned toothily, from ear to ear, the tilt of it joyful, invigorating, contagious. A proper hymn to life.

Arthur had never thought him more arresting than he did now. Merlin was quite incredible and in a way that no one else was. That was not just because by dint of daring and agility he'd got up here. That Arthur admired – it was a feat only few tried – but it wasn't what made Merlin special. What did was Merlin's capacity to offer friendship, his openness with it, with himself. It was a characteristic Pendragons didn't have, one Arthur wished they did.

Because of Merlin's friendship Arthur felt bigger than he was, able to attain more goals than he'd thought he could, full of a potential he could live up to.

With Merlin, Arthur wasn't a burden, a failure, a means to an end. He was just Arthur.

“It's only twelve feet to the top from here," Merlin told him, blowing a puff of breath outwards and into the night. "But we should watch out from here on out."

"Yeah," Arthur said, observing the way moonlight cut in swathes across the lines of Merlin's face, smearing cheekbones and jaw with its pale light. "Yeah."

"The stone is softer here and there's no handhold for about five feet or so."

Arthur knew about that. Though he hadn't tackled King's before, he'd been told by those who had. "We have to do it together."

"I put my foot on your shoulder." Merlin watched Arthur's face as if he was expecting him to put a stop to this. "And then I heave myself the last of the way up. When I'm there, you grab my hand and..."

Cling on for dear life, Arthur thought. "And you pull me up."

"Arthur," Merlin said, grabbing his face. "It's going to be hard. You'll have to bear my weight while clinging to the face of the building."

"I'm strong enough." It was true. Arthur rowed and fenced, lifted weights. But that wasn't what he wanted to say. What he wanted to tell Merlin was, I trust you. I trust you with it, to be quick about it. "I can do it."

“Okay, all right,” Merlin said, studying the face of the tower. “We're doing it.”

Merlin used his knees and, careful not to lean out, climbed another couple of feet. 

Arthur hoisted himself into position too.

It was darker up here; bleaker, with the wind howling in and around the hollows of the pinnacles, and the moonlight snuffed by a veil of clouds

In spite of this, Merlin got to the last parapet. Stretching upwards, he grasped the underside of the stone shelf. His palms fitting around its curve, he hauled himself upwards with a grunt.

Arthur trailed after him. Using the gaps and holes in the stonework, he lugged himself up. When Merlin tossed him the rope, Arthur caught it and swarmed towards the pinnacle. Snow and rain fell in his eyes, numbed his body, but he made the last stretch and came level with Merlin.

They inclined their heads at each other. 

"Now," Arthur said, hugging the parapet.

"Now." 

Merlin moved sideways, closer towards him. He placed a foot into the arch of a setback buttress. Once he was up a length, he inched a step to the left. "Ready?" 

Arthur hugged the stone tight, arms around a stone finial. It came in the shape of a recumbent dragon with its wings up and its snout open. "Yes." He tightened his grip, plastering his body against the turret. "Go ahead."

Gingerly, Merlin placed his foot on Arthur's shoulder. "Moving in."

Arthur couldn't feel the brunt of Merlin's weight yet and wondered what he was waiting for. "Do it."

With a shift, Merlin lowered himself. 

This time Merlin's weight landed fully on him; all eleven stone of him. Arthur's shoulder joint burned; his body tightened. He cramped and his breath pushed out of his lungs in painful waves. Gritting his teeth, Arthur stayed put, face to the stone, his grip on the bulwark stiffening. 

Merlin's mass pushed him downwards and it was all Arthur could do not to move, not to fall. He knew that if he gave an inch he was dead and that without his support Merlin would be too.

He clung on, breath rattling in and out, cramps riddling his shoulder and arm with a deep-seated ache. His hands going numb, he wasn't sure he could keep them fastened around the piece of breastwork for long.

But then Merlin was off, sole flat against the stone, and Arthur breathed. Merlin lifted himself on his arms and landed on the parapet. With a whirl Merlin faced around. He leant downwards, sticking a hand out. "Grab it.”

Arthur needed a moment first. He had to get the feel back in his hands and arms. "Give me a second."

Inhaling sharply, Arthur went for it. He loosened his palm from around the neck of the stone dragon and wrapped it around Merlin's.

Merlin heaved.

He did so wholesale, pulling Arthur's body upwards in a dead lift. It was crazy and absurd. Merlin didn't have the bulk for it. Percy, from the athletics club, might. Not Merlin.

Looking up, Arthur could see the tendons on Merlin's neck stand out, watch his face going taut with the strain of lifting him. "Find a foothold, Arthur," he said, veins lining his throat purple. "I can't bear all your weight."

Feet scrabbling, Arthur found a hole in the clover leaf and pushed up. Next, he found another embrasure a little closer to the top and then another. With Merlin pulling him, Arthur cleared the last three feet, and vaulted over.

Panting hard, he landed onto the last parapet, with nothing but the lancing length of the pinnacle between him and the sky. He was on all fours, with Merlin crouching over him. He, too, was breathing hard. Arthur crawled forwards and cupped his neck. Merlin leant against him, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Arthur could taste his breath; he could almost feel it when his lips set in a tilt.

"We made it!" Though his muscles screamed and burned, Arthur felt better than he ever had, light, powerful, ready to take on the world. "We made it!"

"Yes." Merlin beamed "Yes, we did, Arthur. We did.”

"Together, Merlin." Alone they would never have made it. "The pinnacle of King's!"

"Yeah."

Arthur tilted his head, dove forward, and kissed Merlin on the lips. 

 

**** 

 

They slipped in through the window, Merlin first, Arthur second. Once they were in Merlin's room, Merlin fastened the sash and pulled the curtains together. In the same spirit, Arthur locked the door. With the room so barricaded, darkness spread around it. Arthur clicked the bedside lamp on.

"Did you mean it?" Merlin asked him, shifting his weight, hanging his head. "Arthur, did you mean to kiss me?"

Arthur didn't know what to say. If he told the truth, there was a chance he'd lose Merlin. The thought alone knifed him right through the heart. If he didn't say anything, Merlin would suspect he was withholding secrets and, if Arthur refused to speak, it'd hurt their friendship. "I--"

“It was the adrenaline, wasn't it?" Merlin said, shaking his head. "I understand. We got up there and it felt good and--"

Though Arthur had no idea how Merlin felt about it, he couldn't continue silent any longer. He had more courage than this. "It wasn't the adrenaline." Arthur pursed his lips. A little cross-eyed, he looked downwards. "I did it because I wanted to." He took a deep, dizzying breath. "I've wanted to for a long time--" Two years, four months, a handful of days: ever since Arthur came across Merlin at a house party during May Week, their first year. They hadn't talked then, but Arthur had been struck by the looks of him, the grace of him, even clothed as it was in everyday clumsiness. For some reason, everybody knew Merlin's name, where he hailed from, that he was working class. For his part, Merlin was unapologetic about it and became known as the fellow who'd made it by dint of brains alone. Over the following weeks, Arthur had watched him. Whenever they'd brushed past, whenever their paths had crossed, Arthur's gaze had involuntarily slid over to him. And then one evening during Grace, Dr Allnatt droning on in Latin, Arthur had forced it, arched his eyebrows at Merlin, made a face at him, and somehow he'd snagged his attention. Later, on his way back from Hall, Merlin had stopped him mid-courtyard. 'Arthur Pendragon, right?' Arthur had said something stupid about Merlin being the scholarship lad from Wales, and Merlin had asked whether Arthur himself would be happy being called Sir Uther's son. Arthur had burst out laughing, an eccentric peal of it, full-throated and sonorous. Arthur didn't think they'd strayed that far apart since then. "I realise I should have asked, should have sounded you. But I had to.” He licked his lips. "I apologise if I made you--"

"Don't," Merlin said, hands up, expression fraught. "Don't apologise."

Arthur gazed upwards and right at Merlin. "You're not angry."

Merlin's eyes misted. "Not in the least."

Arthur could be reading it all wrong of course. He could be the victim of a bout of wishful thinking. With the week he'd had he wouldn't but it past him. But on the off-chance he wasn't mistaken, he said, "Why are you not angry Merlin?"

“Because I wanted you to." Merlin huffed a laugh. "Perhaps I wasn't expecting it to happen on top of King's Chapel, but in general I wished it would."

"Really?" Arthur couldn't believe his ears. Merlin had never given him any hint and though Arthur hadn't either -- hadn't felt like he could without upsetting his world too much -- he'd expected someone as courageous as Merlin to have been able to. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

"We are such good friends." Merlin reddened. "At least I hope we are--"

"Yes." Arthur would lay down his life for Merlin tomorrow if it became necessary. "We are.”

“I didn't want to risk it.” Merlin's mouth twisted sideways. "But it seems we both want the same, don't we?"

"Yes." 

Merlin held his gaze and Arthur crossed over to him. He cradled his chin and tilted his face back up. He closed his eyes and fitted his lips to Merlin's. They both breathed through their mouths, with a start, a gasp, a bout of shivering that took them both at the same time. As Arthur dipped his tongue in Merlin's mouth, Merlin clutched at his shoulder and neck. Arthur could feel his fingers digging in, could sense the warmth of him. As he licked into his mouth, sucked and teased and rubbed their lips together, he could taste him too.

Heart striking hammer blows against his ribs, Arthur tore his mouth away, blinked his eyes open. "I care about you," he said, with as little breath as if they'd just finished their ascent and were still up on King's turret. "I care about you more than anyone else, Merlin, and I--" Don't know what to do with this, how to act, he wanted to say, but he realised that he had to curb his fears, seize the moment, because otherwise he never would. And he wanted this more than he'd ever wanted anything before. So he pushed closer, kissed Merlin's forehead, breathed him in. "I want to have sex with you."

He'd said it in a rasp, swallowing painfully.

Merlin looked him in the eyes, kissed him open-mouthed, deep, trailing his lips along his jaw, sucking bruises into the soft of his throat. Without a word he undressed, stumbling out of his clothes one by one. He left them in a puddle on the floor.

Arthur sucked in a breath and looked, looked until his skin burned, and his throat clogged and his heart stuttered. Merlin was bony at elbows and knees; his thighs lean, his stomach taut, the cut of muscle between belly and hip visible. His shoulders were wide though and he was wiry too. As Arthur watched him with the same intentness that he had during Grace that time two years ago, Merlin's cock stiffened and rose between his legs.

Arthur squeezed his lashes shut for a second. Desire was thick in his nostrils, on his tongue.

"Arthur?"

Arthur didn't think he could tell Merlin what was going on in his head, that he found Merlin beautiful, that he stirred something in him that made him lose sight of everything, something that was more than a physical stir. The physical upheaval was all there; his chest hurt and he wasn't sure he could breathe. But it wasn't all there was to it. Arthur had never been that open, not with anyone, and admitting as much felt like taking a terrible plunge in uncharted waters. "I want you," he said, though that didn't cover it. I'm dying for the love of you might have. But then again that was something he wouldn't have told Merlin. Maybe one day. "In spite of the risks, I want you."

“You have me." Merlin looked at him with an intensity fit to strip bones. "You've always had me."

Arthur swallowed painfully and whispered, "Likewise—" 

Shifting streams of moonlight back-lighting him, Merlin moved over, pale and bare. He smiled at him, did so through a veil of near tears, a brightening of the eyes, and stripped Arthur. As he did, he kissed him, tugging off his shirt and ridding him of his belt. When his trousers came off, heat flushed up Arthur's legs and his chest blazed. He hardened and there was no hiding it. “I, uh." He shifted, his face catching fire

Merlin kissed him again, wet and open and off-centre. He bit at his chin, teased the corner of his mouth with the blunt of his teeth. He sucked on the tip of his tongue and took his upper lip between the both of his. He suckled and tangled them together, his tongue to Arthur's jawline, to his neck, to the base of his nostrils. Heads level again, he licked across the seam of his lips.

Arthur gave back as good as he got, kissing, touching, palming, swiping hands down the length of Merlin's back. It felt endless, the skin smooth, muscles contracting where Arthur touched, stroked. Together they pulled off Arthur's shorts. Both naked now, they came together, body to body, face to face. They panted; looked each other in the eyes. It felt like too much and not enough. Arthur's heart bashed him in the solar plexus: his lungs went suddenly small.

Working a hand between them, Merlin touched their cocks together, stroking them wet. 

Arthur gritted his teeth, clamped his jaw. "Merlin, God, Merlin."

Merlin asked, "Is this-- Is this like you want it?"

Arthur put his head beside Merlin's and pressed his lips to his throat, breathing hard. Merlin's neck was long, corded with tendons that stuck out with the tension he exuded, the skin around his Adam's apple raspy from going hours without a shave. Plastered close as they were, Arthur caught a whiff of his smell, his body odour. In spite of the climb, of the effort it had entailed, it wasn't pungent, though it was musky, deep. Exhilarating.

Arthur's breathing faltered; his hips jerked forward. He couldn't stop touching Merlin, pulling him to him, moving the flat of his hands down to his lower back, where his his tail-bone was, a construction of solid geography, Arthur's imprint fanning out across the top swell of buttocks, stroking them apart, forging paths with his fingers that made Merlin's gasp, exhale through his nostrils, start and shake. Circling and pushing with the pad of his fingers, the blunt of his nails, he dug deep with his thumbs. With every tremble that Merlin gave, Arthur felt like floating upwards.

"My legs are getting shaky," Merlin said, mouth on his ear, voice gritty with emotion. "I don't think I'll be able to stand much longer. I, uh...” Merlin laughed at himself. “Let's move this to the bed."

Merlin's bed was a single and narrow at that, the sheets flannel, a little lumpy with frequent washings.

"Lie down," Merlin said.

Arthur lay face down on the bed, chin on his forearm, Merlin's pillow, which was rich with the scent of him, resting a little north of his cheek.

Body warm, Merlin climbed on top of him, blanketed him, his cock between Arthur's legs.

At the mind-blanking rush of need he felt at that, Arthur lost his breath. "God, Merlin."

"I can be inside, if you want," Merlin said, kissing him wetly under his ear, nosing the base of Arthur's skull. "I have Vaseline. I can make it easy."

“Yes." Arthur didn't want Merlin to explain how. He wanted him to do it, fulfil that wish that had him high strung, his body poised on a tremble, his heart a fluttering mess like a savage beating of wings. "Do that."

Merlin's fingers inside him weren't cold; though they were blunt. They burned a fire into Arthur that liquefied his gut and made his cock weep hard. There'd be a patch there, on Merlin's sheets. Merlin'd see it when they moved, but Arthur didn't care, couldn't summon the will to. He could only close his eyes, and count the ragged breaths he was exhaling, the number of his heartbeats.

With every touch, with every push that made him looser, Arthur came a littler bit farther undone, his soul trammelling apart by way of his body. His cock warmed and he pushed at the sheets, moaning low in his throat with each fractional shimmy. At this point he wanted nothing more that to come, have the binding tightening his belly loosen into orgasm.

"Do it now," Arthur said, into the meat of his arm, which he bit right next. "Please."

Merlin didn't say anything. He moved. He put the jar away. The mattress creaked. The imprint of Merlin's palm at the small of Arthur's back was like a fire brand. Merlin moved, kissed his hole damp, then he shifted again, and the bluntness of him made Arthur feel like he was dissolving.

"I'm a little bit in," Merlin told him in a voice so low, Arthur didn't recognise it as his.

Balling his fists, Arthur said, "Not enough." Merlin being a part of him inseparable from the mass of Arthur wouldn't have been enough. This was as much as could be had. "Not nearly so."

Merlin went in a millimetre at a time, waiting between each forward push, his cock hot where it touched. 

Arthur made himself go lax, go open, and then Merlin was in. Arthur could feel him, the length and breadth and warmth of him. It scarcely made sense how close they were now, how they interlocked, or how much Arthur longed for it, how much he wanted to freeze the moment and have them never come apart.

Years it had been and while Arthur had desired, he hadn't exactly known that this was what he wanted, that he'd have it like this between them and no way else.

"Arthur, I--" Merlin braced on his arms, his front sticky with the same sweat that coated Arthur's lower back. "I don't think I can be good. I..." He laughed, a little sound that sounded fairly panicked, brittle at the edges. "I want it to be. How I want it to. But it's because I do--" He fell forwards and they both hissed. "That I can't.”

Arthur couldn't tell Merlin that he understood the dazing effect of this, the fearsome magnitude of it, because he felt it too. It would be the ultimate concession. So he only said, "Doesn't matter. I just want you to."

“Right,” Merlin said. “Right.” He gave a few short thrusts and they felt good, long and satisfying. Arthur wanted to moan with each and every one of them. He didn't. So as not to, he bit his arm, his lip, his tongue. He let himself feel it though, his spine softening, the backbone of him melting, his guts knitting into a ball of heat.

Borne on by his forward momentum, Merlin went deeper, pushing into him, cramming in to the hilt. As he moved in and out, he streaked his lips along the strip of fine hair at the back of Arthur's neck, licked at the sweat that dampened it, put his wet lips to the side of his face. He kissed the top bump of Arthur's spine and pressed his thumbs into the flesh of his shoulder, the tender of it, just under the bone.

It was good. Merlin's lips softened him, his thrusts made Arthur's toes curl and his muscles tighten, go on lock. The canvas of Arthur slowly frayed at the seams, stitch by stitch, and he wanted to do nothing to stop that. He revelled in it; in this new shape his intimacy with Merlin had. He gloried in his learning of the ins and outs of Merlin, the sounds he made, the rhythms of him, the ways of his body and the odd lightness of his scattered kisses.

Hoping he'd make this good for Merlin, Arthur tightened on him.

Merlin let out a choked, desolate cry and his pace shattered. He grabbed Arthur's hips hard enough to leave bruises, stammered his hips forward in a tempo of half thrusts. Then he faltered, cried out, shifted, thrust twice more and, came, wetting Arthur on the inside, slumping on top of him, nose thrust in Arthur's hair, lips on his skin, murmuring words Arthur didn't think actually made sense.

As he came down, Merlin breathed in and out. Arthur could feel it when he pushed air out of his lungs and when he sucked it in. He became aware of Merlin's twitches and knew when his body lost the post bliss laxness it had basked in. Merlin pulled off him, then.

Arthur turned, went for a kiss. They tangled mouths, hot, a little wild. Then Merlin went to his knees on the floor. Arthur sat sideways on the bed, with his feet down too, his legs wide apart.

Scooting forward, Merlin placed his hands on Arthur's thighs. He licked the tip of Arthur's cock, kissed it, nosed it, coated his tongue with the drops of precome Arthur was leaking.

It was hot and disconcertingly visceral, gut tightening, physical in a way that tore down the barriers between them, put them on a path of incontestable intimacy Arthur thought dizzying.

On an instinct, Arthur pushed forward and into Merlin's mouth. Merlin licked him clean, stroked his tongue over spots that made Arthur see white, made him want to shout himself raw. He panted but knew he couldn't shout. 

Grabbing him hard around the hips, keeping him in place, the imprint of his thumb painting itself on his skin, shaping itself across bone and, Arthur thought wildly, under it, on his soul, Merlin sucked.

He took him in deeper, spit staining his lips and chin and Arthur opened his thighs wide, muscles roping, body squirming, a tremor lashing its way down his spine. He rolled his hips forward in a tide, in a rhythm he would have wanted to make gentle but couldn't.

Barely grazing it, Merlin scraped his teeth along the length of him, and Arthur lost it a little bit. He pounded the mattress with the flat of his hand, bit at the flesh between his index and thumb, and when that was not enough to stem the tide of dissolution he felt, he flexed his palm around Merlin's nape, and thrust. 

Arthur hadn't felt quite this way prior to this. Obviously, he'd been close to orgasm before and he had previously been smitten with people, the look of them, the loveliness of them. But this had a different quality to it, a different scope. It hurt inside. And at the same time it brought a lightness with it that came from the pieces of him slotting together in a structure that held, that had none of the precariousness of Arthur's doubts and fears.

With a widening of the nostrils, Merlin took him in to the hilt, his head at his crotch, his nose brushing short coarse hair. Arthur's brain scrambled, his insides diluted and, closing his eyes, he came.

Merlin's eyes streamed and he coughed, but he kissed Arthur all the same, trading tongues with him and with it the taste of Arthur, bitter, a little acrid. Then the kisses slowed and resolved into lazy dips of the lips.

 

**** 

 

They stayed naked, without recourse to blankets and sheets. They shared the bed. To fit they had to lie on their sides, Merlin's arm loosely curled around Arthur's flank, one of Arthur's hands under the pillow, the other cupping Merlin's neck.

Weighted down by sleep, the ends of Merlin's lashes came down, a sooty veil of them.

Arthur said, "I told my father."

Merlin's eyebrows twitched together; he opened one eye. "Mmm, told him what?"

"That I love men." Arthur had used those exact same words, made a point of being direct, so that Father couldn't equivocate or wilfully misunderstand. "I told him I had you on my mind."

Merlin went a little bug-eyed. "And what did he say?"

“He called down rain and thunder, threatened to cut me off." That hadn't hurt quite as much as Father's refusal to acknowledge who Arthur was. "In the end, when he couldn't persuade me to say I was confused after all, he stormed off."

"God," Merlin said, his hand curling tighter around the jut of Arthur's hip. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"Don't be." Arthur didn't want Merlin to be sorry for anything, let alone this. He wouldn't allow Uther Pendragon to tarnish his life. "I had to tell the truth and he had to hear it."

"I know." Merlin touched his lips to Arthur's cheek, right under the eye. "I still wish it could have been different."

Arthur did too. For the longest time he'd hoped his father would take him at face value, accept Arthur and his efforts to please him, to make him proud. But for just as long Father hadn't. He'd pushed and prodded, tested him and controlled him. "I can't change him. But I won't change myself to the person he wants me to be."

“Is that why you wanted to climb King's Chapel?" Merlin asked.

"No." Arthur turned flat on his back. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Arthur flung his arm across his eyes. "I didn't do it for him." Arthur had it in his blood, the thrill seeking, like Merlin had. "I needed to prove something to myself."

"And have you?" Merlin shifted.

"Yes." That he could choose his own path, be the prompter of his own success. "I think I have.”

"I'm happy we did it, that we went up." Merlin's shoulder nudged his as did his hip. "I loved doing it with you."

“Me too." Sharing that experience, that had got them here. Arthur had never soared so high. He flipped onto his side and kissed Merlin's mouth at an angle. "Me too."

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> you're wondering if night climbing is real, then yes it is. Here are some links you can check out:  
> [Telegraph Article](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/6718616/Steeplejacks-retrieve-Father-Christmas-hats-from-Cambridge-spires.html) and  
> Daily MAIL
> 
> There's also a book on the subject, which was written in the 1930s, and is called The Night Climbers of Cambridge. (I haven't read it.)
> 
> I got the idea for this fic however right from a telly series called Grantchester.
> 
> Also, happy spring/Easter, everyone!


End file.
